


and with every touch you fixed them

by Lauren (notalwaysweak)



Series: Four-Color Love (A Comic Book Romance) [18]
Category: The Big Bang Theory (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 12:59:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1094145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notalwaysweak/pseuds/Lauren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PWP. I asked on tumblr if Raj ever (physically) topped Stuart in fic and the answer was a resounding no. So I nobly stepped up to take one for the Sturaj team. (As an aside, it diverged from my original plan, but I imagine <em>someone</em> will get around to little black dresses and piledriving eventually.) Inspired by conversation with dracoaries and starrrz.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and with every touch you fixed them

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DracoAries](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DracoAries/gifts), [falsteloj](https://archiveofourown.org/users/falsteloj/gifts), [afullmargin (anemptymargin)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anemptymargin/gifts).



The first time _profoundly_ does not work. Stuart goes tense under Raj’s hands mere seconds after Raj starts touching his ass, although Raj’s hands have wandered there a million times before without any issues.

“Not tonight?”

“Not tonight,” Stuart confirms, rolling over and nuzzling into Raj’s shoulder, and Raj immediately puts his arms around him, knocking the lube over in the process and necessitating a change of sheets.

 

The second time, Raj has been playing grab-ass all day, and Stuart’s shitty enough at paintball as it is (except that being small he’s not bad at hiding and sniping), and so he’s more annoyed than aroused to start with.

“It’s the cargo pants,” Raj admits after Stuart gets to the point of smacking his hand away. “They make your butt look – um.” He runs out of words, resorts to a curve of his hand in the air.

“Well, stop it, or you’re going to learn all about friendly fire.”

He’s still doing it when they get home. Stuart strips to his boxers in the middle of the living room, throws the pants at Raj, and stomps into the bedroom, faceplanting onto the bed.

In retrospect, he shouldn’t have been quite as surprised when it didn’t work, or at least only slowed Raj down for a minute.

“Can you _not_?” he snaps, peeling Raj’s hand off his backside. “I’m bruised and sore and I just want to rest for a minute and then go and lie in the bath forever.”

Raj apologizes, goes and fills the bath for him, picks out a body wash that isn’t ridiculously fruity, and kneels beside the tub to wash Stuart’s back.

Irritating as his persistence is, Stuart’s disappointed when Raj’s hand hovers at the base of his spine before Raj drops the washcloth into the water and says, “I’ll let you finish up,” and leaves him to it.

 

The third time is like the first time, only this time he’s sure the problem is that he knows what’s coming and has performance anxiety and he can add that to his anxiety checklist and if he keeps finding things to be anxious about they’re going to have to invent a whole new category just for him in the next edition of the DSM and maybe they can even name it after him or something.

Raj just kisses him until he’s quiet, and then kisses him some more until he’s actually all right.

“You don’t have a problem with doing it to me?” Raj is asking more than one question in one sentence.

“No. No, I don’t.” And Stuart rolls on top of him. He’s maybe a little rougher than usual because he can’t answer the other permutation of that question, the one that’s asking why he has a problem taking instead of giving. It frustrates him. Considering the way Raj is moving under him and the stream of imprecations issuing from his mouth, he has a minute or two to wonder why Raj wants it any other way before Raj is falling and he goes tumbling after.

 

The fourth time _could_ have worked, precisely because he wasn’t expecting it, but sitting in Raj’s lap on the couch, pressed in tight against him, is something they’re both used to ending a certain way. They end up messy and laughing ruefully and really, it’s not like they keep lube in the living room anyway, not since the time that Cinnamon used the bottle as a chew toy.

 

The fifth time is more successful, equally as messy, and Stuart winds up lying there torn between a giggle fit and a full-blown panic attack because they’re at the point where coming too fast is just kind of funny and not so uncomfortably embarrassing, but he also has two of Raj’s fingers in his ass and feels _incredibly_ self-conscious about it.

“Same time next month?” Raj says wryly, and Stuart pulls away and throws an arm over his eyes.

 

* * *

 

Stuart slams the front door, throws his bag onto the couch, and stomps into the bathroom, shedding clothes on the way.

“Taxes?” Raj calls through the closed bathroom door.

“I hate Mondays,” Stuart yells back, turning the shower on full with a twist of his wrist and only easing it back down to just shy of scalding when a hand poked under the spray comes back lobsterified. He steps in and sears the day away, belatedly realizing that he didn’t bring so much as a clean pair of boxers in with him. Fuck it. If he can’t wander around in a towel in his own home, where _can_ he?

Something about the date is nagging at the back of his head, but he writes it off as another tax niggle and goes out to the bedroom.

Candles paint the room with soft light. Quiet music is playing and after a second he places it as the mixtape that he made for Raj on their first Valentine’s Day. Raj is sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing only loose black cotton pants.

“Come here, love,” he says, and although they’ve exchanged the l word more than once since he first blurted it out, it never fails to make Stuart smile. He goes into the safety of Raj’s arms, letting Raj pull him onto his lap; Raj apparently doesn’t mind his dripping hair. He tucks his head in against Raj’s shoulder and lets Raj murmur silly things at him about sticking Nic Cage pictures on all the telescope lenses to mess with the undergrad tour of the lab, and how Howard got bored at lunch and managed to fold all Sheldon’s napkins into flowers without him noticing, and how Sheldon got him back by licking his cookie.

“That sounds vaguely dirty,” Stuart says.

“The way he did it, it _was_. And he had no idea how bad it looked.”

“Did you tell Amy?”

“Sent her a photo.” Raj twists around and rolls Stuart off his lap onto the bed. “Get comfortable.”

“You’re going to need to be more specific.”

“Massage comfortable,” Raj clarifies, going to the dresser drawer where they keep an array of stuff that’s not meant for public viewing. Stuart sprawls on his stomach, pillows his head on his arms, and closes his eyes while Raj hunts out the massage oil bottle.

Raj being Raj, the oil is scented; the blend of basil, verbena, and ylang-ylang is subtly intoxicating. What Stuart likes best about it is that Raj came up with it on his own, after quite a few evenings spent waving various aromatherapy bottles under Stuart’s nose.

It’s slippy-warm on his skin, and Raj’s hands glide over his shoulders and back in soft slow strokes before he starts working on the knots in Stuart’s muscles. Raj is hovering over him, which can’t be great for his thighs (or maybe it is, like doing squats or lunges), but Stuart appreciates not being flattened into the mattress. He groans out loud when Raj hits a particularly sore spot, and Raj immediately backs off, easing up the pressure until Stuart rolls his shoulders by way of confirmation that it’s okay to keep going.

He’s probably going to need to shower again to get all the oil off, but at the moment that’s the furthest thought from his mind. Actually, he’s pretty much not thinking at all; he’s just feeling. Feeling Raj’s strong sure hands on him, and the heat coming off Raj’s thighs either side of his ass, and the soft tickle of breath on the back of his neck when Raj leans down to press a kiss there.

“Mmmm.”

“Good.” Raj slides his hands along Stuart’s sides as he sits back up, and Stuart shivers. “Sorry. Ticklish?”

“Nah.” In point of actual fact, Stuart’s starting to get turned on, which, as much as he loves Raj’s body and the things that he can do to it, he wasn’t expecting after his hellacious work day. (But he won’t think about that now, that all went down the drain with the water.)

“Hmmm.” Raj does it again, and Stuart lifts his upper body off the bed enough for Raj to slide his hands underneath him and touch his chest. It’s not easy and he has to flop back down after a minute, but it feels good.

“I like this,” Raj says. “I like that I can help you de-stress.”

“Mrf,” Stuart agrees, head settled back on his arms.

He feels Raj’s weight shift and then one of Raj’s hands is on his right calf, and that _can’t_ be comfortable sitting twisted around like that. Stuart opens his mouth to suggest that Raj move, and then Raj does something with his thumb behind Stuart’s knee, and all that comes out is a happy little whimper because it sends a tingle running up his leg. Normally it would tickle like hell but he seems to be in a state of consciousness or something where ticklish spots are suddenly really arousing.

Or maybe it’s just the fact that he’s naked and oily, who knows?

Raj massages one of his legs and then the other and Stuart’s really glad they’re (mostly. usually) past the body shyness of the early days, where he used to insist on having the towel over his ass while Raj did his back, instead of – it’s kind of fallen off under him, somehow, so Raj is straddling his bare ass. Huh. No wonder he can feel every whisper of cotton against his skin. He can’t stop from giggling at the thought.

“You sound high.” Raj, for his part, sounds amused.

“I just realized my towel slipped.”

Raj runs a finger up his inner thigh. “It certainly did.”

“Kiss, please,” Stuart says, turning his head to look back over his shoulder at Raj. Raj gladly obliges, shifting position again, and the evidence of his arousal presses squarely against Stuart’s ass.

Stuart loses track of the kiss because he’s arching up against that touch, pressing into it, feeling the solid hot weight of Raj’s cock rubbing against him right – fucking – _there_ – and he lets out a strangled gasp into Raj’s mouth.

“Hmmm,” Raj says contemplatively, and his weight lifts off Stuart for a second and Stuart’s all set to complain when one slick finger trails over his skin, just barely there, and it comes out as a choked moan instead. Seems like all the noises he wants to make are caught up inside him. Not to mention that when he came back down from that little back-arch his cock got caught at an interesting angle and it’s hard to keep from rubbing against the towel.

Raj just _has_ to have the beautifully soft Egyptian cotton.

Stuart feels Raj move down the bed a little until he’s sitting on Stuart’s thighs, his cock pressed snugly against one of them, and there’s a moment there where Stuart says, “No,” and Raj’s hands lift off him.

Stuart breathes in deep, breathes out slow, settles his head back against his arms, and says, “Now, yes.”

Raj is slow and methodical and pauses whenever Stuart tenses up, which is often. The first push of his finger inside, the way eased by proper lube this time instead of scented oil, is smoother than Stuart expected and makes him bite his lip anticipating a pain that doesn’t come. Raj works a second finger in beside the first and lets out a low moan of his own to echo Stuart’s.

“What?” Stuart asks.

“You’re so – _fuck_ , Stuart – so _hot_ —”

Stuart shivers under his words as much as under his hands.

Raj keeps patiently working him open with careful touches, testing the waters with a few rougher movements, pausing again if Stuart flinches away instead of riding up against his hand. His fingers find that one spot inside Stuart and work it: soft and hard by turns until Stuart’s not even sure there’s a word for the noises he’s making.

Stuart reaches a point very quickly where he can no longer think about what this all means, or how it might change things, or anything like that. All he can think about is _more_ , and how open he feels, and how stretched he’s _going_ to feel, and at that last a helpless moan tears itself out of him.

“Oh, God. You sound...”

“Oh, God, Raj...”

Their voices overlap in the intimate space between them.

“I want – you’re so hot – can I?”

“ _Yes_.”

Raj is off him in a second; Stuart hears something fall off the dresser as Raj hurls his pants in the general direction of the laundry hamper and evidently misses, and laughs into his folded arms.

There’s the crinkle of plastic.

“No.”

“No... what?”

“We’ve been together for ages, we know we’re clean...” He lifts his head, feeling his face go pink but unable not to look Raj in the eye for this last. “I want to feel it all.”

Raj lets out a shocked sound and throws himself down on the bed, leaning up against the pillows, and tugging at Stuart’s hand. Stuart takes the hint and this time when he settles on Raj’s lap it’s face to face and a hell of a lot closer. Raj slicks himself up with quick, economical movements and then pulls Stuart into a kiss.

It’s not the easiest position, but being face to face like this... it works. Stuart feels Raj’s hands on him, one at his hip and one under his ass, touching, stroking... guiding.

The first press of Raj’s cock into him is almost too much and he digs his fingers into the headboard, his eyes closing.

“Oh. God.”

“Too much?”

Stuart steadies himself, breathes in deep, and pushes down. Feels the slow burn of being filled. Leans his forehead against Raj’s and moves again, and stars silently fill the darkness behind his eyelids.

“ _Stuart_.” Raj practically growls his name.

He can’t formulate words, not right now. He just rocks down against Raj, and then raises up, and then _right_ down, and the slivers of pain dissolve into heat and pleasure. He’s dimly aware of Raj’s fingers digging into his hip, Raj’s other hand at the small of his back, steadying him.

“You... feel...”

“ _Yes_ ,” Stuart says, and covers Raj’s mouth with his own. He moves and moves and _moves_ , learning the way, and finds the right angle, and suddenly the stars are going nova.

“F-fuck, Stuart, oh—” Raj’s hands are tight on him.

Stuart kisses him again and then presses his mouth against the side of Raj’s neck. There’s this one spot where if he bites down just a little—

Raj _screams_. There’s no other word for it. He screams and he clings to Stuart and Stuart feels every pulse, every beat, as Raj lets go inside of him.

He’d thought and dreamed and imagined and even drawn this, but the reality, _oh_.

Raj falls back against the pillows, eyes mostly shut, and Stuart can empathize with his struggle to breathe. He has stopped moving; he can still feel Raj inside him, and the revelation that it worked this time is enough to make him slip a hand down between them to his own cock.

Raj is not far gone enough to let him do that, though, and his warm, capable fingers take over, stroking Stuart once-twice-thrice, and Stuart lets out his own cry into the dancing half-light.

Disentangling themselves from each other is harder than getting there in the first place. Stuart _does_ have to shower again. Raj joins him after blowing out all the candles, and gets fresh towels, and stops him when he reaches for his boxers.

“I’m declaring this a no pants bed,” he announces.

Stuart inclines his head. “As you wish.”

Raj laughs and kisses him and pulls the covers over them both. “I think this was the best birthday ever,” he murmurs against Stuart’s ear.

Stuart sits bolt upright. “Oh my God, I forgot your birthday.”

Raj coaxes him back down and into his arms. “It’s okay... hey. It’s okay. You gave me the best present you could, anyway.”

“My ass?” Stuart manages to quip.

He feels Raj’s soft hair brush against his cheek as Raj shakes his head. “Your trust.”


End file.
